


Fear and Fury

by the_pale_rider



Category: Horus Heresy - Various Authors, Warhammer 40.000, Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Gen, Night Lords, World Eaters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-17 10:56:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3526670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_pale_rider/pseuds/the_pale_rider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Night Lords are sent to assist the World Eaters in a difficult compliance. Sevatar, First Captain of the VIII Legion, is sent to broker the terms of the joint campaign.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sevatar had decided that he liked the XII Legion. In their own way, they were similar to his own. Both the World Eaters and the Night Lords were condemned by those oh so ‘honourable’ Legions; decried as savages and barbarians for their styles of war. The World Eaters used their rage and fury to win. The Night Lords used fear and terror. Both Legions committed horrific acts of brutality in service to the Emperor. But at least his brothers left most of a world’s population alive when they departed. Angron’s sons were better known for leaving an abattoir in their wake. Regardless, they were necessary. Necessary tools to achieve the Emperor’s goal. Let the Lion or Guilliman, or Dorn tie themselves in knots over the morality of war. 

Breaking from his meandering thoughts, Sevatar glanced out of the _Nightfall’s _oculus at the planet below. The compliance of Julara was rare in the fact that it required two of the Legiones Astartes to achieve. Whatever the World Eaters were doing down there, their tried and tested method of wholesale slaughter clearly hadn’t worked. So the orders had come through ordering the VIII Legion to go assist their cousins. Unsurprisingly, Angron had not received the news well then their fleet had translated in-system. He may be psychotic, but Sevatar had guessed that the Lord of XII Legion was a warrior first and immensely prideful when it came to his ability to fight. Offers of assistance, or receiving it regardless, would likely drive him into one of his famous rages.__

“First Captain, Lord Curze has requested your presence in his chambers,” mumbled one of the crew. 

With an overdramatic sigh, Sevatar left the dimly lit bridge for the Night Haunter’s personal chambers. No doubt, he was going to send him across to the _Conqueror _to try and soothe over Angron’s ruffled feathers. Frankly, he couldn’t care less for the XII primarch’s bruised pride. He’d been hacking away at Julara with his axes for months now, he must have known the War Council would send a relief force sooner or later. As he strode through the ship’s darkened corridors, Sevatar idly wondered if he would be allowed to fight in the famous fighting pits of the World Eaters. Sigismund had, and their thirty hour duel was widely known throughout the Legions. He smiled to himself as he remembered that fight. Thirty gruelling hours of parrying, blocking and dodging. The clash of blades. The roars of the crowds. In the end, he just got bored with the whole thing and disqualified himself with an illegal headbutt. But he’d had the satisfaction of breaking the Templar’s winning streak. He heard that Khârn, equerry to Angron, was a skilled fighter. Maybe he’d offer up a decent challenge. He’d reached his father’s chambers, the doors guarded by two of the Atramentar. The hulking warriors stood to attention in the presence of their captain, which Sevatar ignored as he entered.__

The room was pitch black, but Sevatar was a child of Nostramo. The darkness held no secrets for him. His natural night vision, coupled with his Night Lord geneseed, allowed him to easily see through the gloom. Unsurprisingly, bodies in various states of decomposition were strewn around the chambers. Some were slumped over the chairs and table, others hanging by vicious flesh hooks chains. Flayed skins were stretched across canvases. Torn limbs and hunks of flesh decorated the floor and walls. Madness hung heavy in the air. In his inner sanctum, the gnawing psychosis of the Night Haunter, his tortured visions of the future, became reality. 

“Sevatar.” 

The word came hissing out of the darkness. Despite his excellent night vision, Sevatar could not see his father. Whilst all Night Lords felt at ease in the dark, the Dark King owned it, and could blend and disappear entirely into it. Whilst mortals would be paralysed with fear, he merely waited until the Night Haunter chose to reveal himself.

“You wanted to see me lord?” he asked coldly. He was in no mood to play games.

“Yes, First Captain. Though mind your tongue. Do not forget, your life is mine to end whenever I see fit.” The sinister voice echoed around the chamber.

Sevatar glanced down at his gauntlets, their arterial red at odds with the rest of his midnight blue plate. A gang tradition from Nostramo, those who wore the red had failed so greatly that they were sentenced to die. But they would continue to serve until the death sentence was carried out. It was the same within the Legion. 

“My brother is displeased that we have been sent to assist him. But I have seen that we shall only achieve Compliance united. You will go to Angron and establish a working alliance with him and his Eaters of Worlds.”

“Yes sire. I leave at once for the _Conqueror _.” He saluted and strode out of his father’s sanctum, glad to be out his twisted psyche. Hopefully the Red Angel won’t rip him apart as soon as he sets foot on his ship.__


	2. Chapter 2

Khârn was Angron’s equerry for several reasons. It had been he who had managed to convince Angron of the Legion’s worthiness when he had first been returned to them, all those decades before. It had nearly killed him to break through his father’s rage that time. He was also known for being one of the calmer World Eaters, which suited the Legion when they had to deal with other Legions and Imperial forces. Angron had no patience for diplomacy or politics, so often sent Khârn in his stead. In the years since, the Eighth Captain had learnt to read his master’s mood and temper, and knew when to speak, to question. Now was not one of those times.

Angron’s temper, always short and threatening to erupt, was on the precipice. The unexpected arrival of the Night Haunter and his fleet ‘to assist the Twelfth Legion in the compliance of Julara’, to quote the signed orders from the Imperial War Council, had driven both the Primarch and many of his sons to edge of violence. The World Eaters had never failed to win a war their way and didn’t need any ‘assistance’ in doing so. The Jularian forces were canny foes, adapt at ambushes and guerrilla tactics. They avoided open battle whenever they could, denying the Legion its greatest strengths. Its cities were situated deep within the world’s numerous mountain chains, so drop pod assaults were near impossible. Privately, Khârn knew they needed assistance, but the thought still galled him. To make matters worse, the lack of battle was causing the Nails to snap and bite harder than usual. Without the release that violence offered, the Legion was left in state of near constant frenzy, ill-tempered and fractious. The fighting pits offered a place to vent their rage but it wouldn’t last forever. 

Pushing thoughts of the possible impending collapse of his Legion from his mind, Khârn waited in the hanger with an honour guard from his company. Word from the _Nightfall _stated that Curze was sending a party to establish relations to prepare for the coming campaign. He had never fought alongside the VIII Legion but knew them by reputation. Horror stories followed the Night Lords on their campaigns, tales of terror and fear being used to paralyse and demoralise entire worlds into submission. Tales of sadistic torture and mutilation; men, women and children flayed alive, their screams shrieking through the voxnet. Entire cities being culled in a night of clinically applied violence and terror.__

A Storm Eagle slid into the hanger, coloured midnight blue and adorned with symbols of death and damnation. As it touched down with screaming engines, Khârn and his honour guard stood to attention, awaiting their guests. The ramp descended with a clang, revealing little but shadows within. Out of those shadows strode a swaggering Astartes with a monstrous chainglaive held casually over his shoulder. His armour was decorated with numerous grisly trophies, skulls hanging from chains and flayed skin stretched over his plate. His helm was fashioned in the style of a leering skull and crowned with a pair a batwings. Behind came a squad of five warriors clad in hulking suits of Cataphractti Terminator armour, each similarly decorated to inspire fear. The lead Astartes approached Khârn, planted his halberd on the floor before sketching an overly elaborate, mocking bow. 

“Greetings cousin. I am Sevatar, First Captain of the Night Lords Legion, Equerry to Lord Konrad Curze and Commander of the Atramentar. And who might you be?”

“Khârn, Eighth Assault Captain and Equerry to Primarch Angron.” Khârn also knew of Sevatar by reputation alone, and that reputation spoke of a vicious, ruthless and supremely skilled fighter.

“Well, with the niceties out of the way, shall we cut to heart of the matter? My Legion have been sent to finish this compliance for you. We’re expected to work together and Lord Curze has sent me over here to broker such an alliance. Is such a thing possible or are those infamous XIIth Legion tempers going to be a problem?”

Sevatar’s blunt address sent a wave of mutters through the World Eater honour guard. Hands strayed towards weapons and bolters. Fighting to keep his rising temper in check, Khârn looked at the First Captain square in the red lenses of his skull helm.

“We can fight alongside one another, and we shall share what intelligence we have. But do not expect anything more. The XIIth prefers to fight alone,” he managed through gritted teeth.

“Excellent! We can ask no more from a brother Legion.” Sevatar replied jovially. “Now cousin, tell me more about the famous fighting pits of the World Eaters. I am something of an accomplished fighter myself but have always wanted to try my luck.” 

\----------------

The World Eaters had never seen anything like it. The pits had been opened up to a select few warriors from other Legions; Amit of the Blood Angels, Sigismund of the Imperial Fists to name a few. But they paled in comparison to Sevatar. His speed bordered on the preternatural, his strikes uncannily precise. Combined with a shocking brutality and a dirty fighting streak, he was all but unstoppable. Few World Eaters could make it past first blood, let alone reach second or third. Despite his towering arrogance and a cold demeanour, the First Captain proved to be a favourite.  
It had been two weeks since the Night Lords fleet had reached Julara and so far, the joint campaign was working well. Between the World Eaters’ fury and the Night Lords’ terror tactics, the enemy was being forced to give ground and fall back. It would not be long before the Jularians were either destroyed or surrendered.

After another successful series of coordinated battles, the _Conqueror _was playing host to a detachment of Night Lords, headed by Sevatar. Following the briefing for the next round of engagements, he had requested Khârn face him in the pits later on. He was an indifferent and infrequent competitor at best, but he could tell that Sevatar was keen to cross blades with him. So he agreed and, later that night, he went down to the pits in the flagship’s hold to face the First Captain.__

The roar of the crowd was deafening. Surrounded by chanting World Eaters, Khârn and Sevatar circled each other like wolves. Both were unarmoured and stripped to waist, Sevatar’s pale skin contrasting sharply with the diversity found amongst the World Eaters. His face was lined with scars, one snagging across his lips, pulling them into a permanent smirk. His eyes, like all Night Lords, were black-on-black and dead like an ancient Terran aquatic creature. His chainglaive was deactivated, its barbed teeth idle. Khârn’s chainaxe was likewise. The bout was to third blood, though no one expected it to last long. 

In a blur of speed, Sevatar lashed out with his halberd. Khârn barely had time to bring his axe up to block the strike, the weapons clashing in a shriek of metal. He forced the halberd out wide and brought his axe whirling back at the Night Lord’s chest. But the First Captain jinked aside, the blade passing his flesh by. Smacking the haft into Khârn’s head, Sevatar twirled his glaive around, jabbed the butt into his stomach and then brought the head slicing downward, scoring a bloody gash along the World Eater’s neck. First blood to Sevatar and in a matter of seconds. The Nails bit deep into his mind, feeding his rage and driving him to retaliate. Snarling, Khârn launched a flurry of strikes at his opponent but Sevatar blocked and parried them all with almost supernatural speed. He stepped around to Khârn’s right, seeking to strike at his exposed back. Whirling round, Khârn dropped his axe and caught the glaive with both hands. Both Astartes grunted and struggled as the crowd bayed for blood. 

“You’re slower than I expected Khârn,” hissed Sevatar. “I thought you’d offer me challenge. I’d heard you were a gifted warrior and fighter.”

“Enough of your goading Night Lord.”

Wrenching the halberd down, Khârn slammed his forehead into Sevatar’s face. With a wet crack, blood spurted from his broken nose. His face a mask of blood, Sevatar shoved hard and let go of his weapon, letting Khârn stumble away. Before he could recover, the Night Lord darted forward, swaying left and right, away from Khârn’s wild swings and tackled the roaring World Eater to the deck. Sitting on one arm and pinning the other down with his left hand, Sevatar laughed manically as he brought his fist down on Khârn’s face. Once. Twice. Three times. Skin tore and bone crackled as the World Eater roared in frustration. Blood caked his face and Sevatar’s fist. 

Releasing Khârn, the victorious Night Lord stood and raised his hands in triumph, basking in the roars and chanting of the assembled legionnaires. His lips were pulled back in a bloody rictus grin, his black eyes glittering in the dim light of the hold. Though he’d never admit it, there had been a tiny inkling of doubt that the Eighth Captain might have defeated him. He was a skilled fighter, brutish yes, but still gifted. Picking up his chainglaive, he left the circle without a backward glance. 

\----------------

“I heard that Sevatar bested you in the pits last night Khârn,” rumbled Angron.

“Aye sire. He is a shrewd fighter. Ruthless. Fast.” Khârn’s face bore the bruises from last night’s bouts but it was nothing. His posthuman body was made to endure punishment. A beating was of little consequence. 

Both the Primarch and his equerry were in the _Conqueror’s _strategium, waiting for the First Captain and his party to attend the briefing. Julara was ready to fall. After weeks of running battles, of terror raids by the VIII and bloody slaughters by the XII had pushed them to breaking point. Now, it was time for the final strike, the strike that would utterly break their defiance. With a tramp of ceramite boots, Sevatar entered, followed by his Atramentar. Nodding in greeting to both Angron and Khârn, he approached the hololithic table and brought up the projection of Julara. A chime announced an incoming message from Sarrin.__

“What is it girl?” spat the Primarch.

“Sir, there’s a craft coming across from the _Nightfall _…”__

“Who else is Curze sending to me now?! Another of his lackeys? Why doesn’t he come himself?!”

“That’s because I’m already here, brother,” a voice whispered from the darkness.

Angron whirled round to the source of the voice, as his sons drew their weapons. “Curze! Damn your skulking, you bastard! Show yourself!” Axes bared and growling, his rage burned through him. Sevatar and the other Night Lords stood completely unfazed by this turn of events.

Cold laughter rang round the strategium, bouncing around its dark corners and shadows. Materialising out of the darkness, the Primarch of the VIII Legion revealed himself. Tall and cadaverous, his dirty alabaster skin was obscured by lank black hair. A cruel smirk revealed teeth filed to points and his black-on-black eyes radiated maliciousness and cruelty. Like his sons, his armour was midnight blue and bore numerous trophies; skulls, chains, flayed skin. A ragged skin cloak hung from his narrow shoulders. 

“How long have you been on my ship?!” bellowed Angron. Turning to Sevatar, he vented his rage on the indifferent Astartes. “Did you know he was here?!”

“Leave Sevatar alone Angron. For once, he is innocent. I have spent time both on the _Conqueror _and down on Julara. It has been easy to conceal myself abroad transports, and I prefer to do my work alone. But I am here now.”__

Angron was breathing hard through clenched teeth. The threat of violence radiated from him in waves. His hands were shaking. The muscles in the left side of his face twitched. The Nails were hammering hard in his skull, demanding that he attack his sneering brother. 

“Sire…”

“Be silent Khârn.” Turning back to Curze, “Why are you here, brother?”

Konrad smirked. “I’ve seen that we must work together to finally achieve Compliance. The time for sowing fear and terror has past. We must unleash our Legions and destroy them.”

Angron smiled, baring his iron teeth through scarred lips. “Ha. I think we can work together to achieve this Konrad.”


	3. Chapter 3

Governor-General Zur-sin Suzub knew defeat was inevitable. The men and women of Julara had given everything to this fight, the fight for their freedom. But the enemy, those armoured giants of ‘the Emperor’ were too many now. They were not honourable warriors. Those in white and blue were blood crazed berserkers, savages who revelled in violence for its own sake. They cared not if they slew combatants or civilians. He had received reports of their barbarism and butchery. Their allies were something else entirely. They hid in the shadows, striking at night. They specifically targeted civilians, spreading fear and terror through their cities. They mutilated and desecrated innocent men, women and children, broadcasting their screams across Julara. They celebrated their sadism and cruelty.

But there was also something else at work on their planet. A merciless and vile killer who moved unseen between cities. But its handiwork was always clear. Bodies, flayed and brutalised, were displayed for all see every morning. No evidence was ever found, no inkling of where it had come from or where it’d gone. The people were terrified. They weren’t face in their own homes anymore. Captain Tiamat had brought him the only image they had of the killer; a grainy pict pulled from the Naramsin house, before everyone in it had been butchered. The shadowy figure seemed to be tall, thin and armoured in the same dark midnight plate of the so called ‘Night Lords’. Their commander perhaps? If the self-styled Emperor of Mankind kept company such as this, Suzub was glad he had refused to bend the knee to his armies.

“Governor-General! Governor-General!” An aide dashed into his chambers, panting for breath. “I bring a message from Commander Sin-Nasir! He reports that the enemy have attacked in strength, driving towards Setta. Fire is raining down upon the city.”

Suzub considered the news. Setta was the lynchpin in his ever shrinking defence. If it fell, everything would collapse. It also only fifty miles from his position, Ankalia, the capital. His decision was clear.  


“Dispatch the Third and Seventh Cohorts to Setta. Contact Sin-Nasir and tell him support is coming.”

The aide saluted and dashed out. Rubbing his temples, Suzub massaged his temples. This was it. The endgame. The fate of Julara and its peoples would be decided in the coming hours.

\--------------

“I can’t believe they fell for it,” chuckled Sevatar as he watched the Jularian forces leave the city. “It’s the oldest tactic in the book. Distract and strike. The enemy commander is a fool.”

The First Captain, along with several squads of Night Raptors were waiting in the mountains above Ankalia. They had infiltrated the heights the previous night, teleporting down with orders to wait. The World Eaters would do what they do best, launch a mad all-out assault on the enemy strongpoint. Whilst the enemy dealt with them rampaging through his lines, the VIII Legion would strike at the capital and decapitate the foe. And this bloody mess of a Compliance would be finished.

Turning to his brothers, he opened a vox channel to all squads. “Brothers. The final stage of the war awaits us. Lord Curze has given orders for us to strike at dusk. We shall descend on the city below and cut the head of this world’s defiance.”

\--------------

It felt good to finally face the Jularians in open battle, mused Khârn. For too long they had avoided facing the World Eaters, content to strike and then retreat. Now the XII Legion was at their door and could not be ignored or avoided. 

Storming the breach was always a risk, even for Astartes. Point enough firepower at them and they would eventually fall. But the World Eaters did not care. They would not be denied. The Nails buzzed in their minds, forcing them to charge. The breach was littered with the corpses of those who had tried and failed. 

The Nails stabbed deep into his brain as he waited for the artillery barrage. Muscles spasmed down his arm, making him gun his chainaxe. The snarling whine was echoed by others. His company was as impatient as him, eager to charge. It was becoming harder to maintain order in battle now. Once the Nails took over, nothing could stop them. With a deafening roar, the artillery struck, pummelling the walls. Plumes of dust enveloped the breach. With a roar, Khârn raised his axe and lead the charge was the World Eaters stormed the breach.

Shots spat down from the wall, pinging off his armour. One snagged his right pauldron, heavy enough to make him miss a step. Snarling, he pushed on, climbing the incline towards the breach. The rate of fire intensified, crackling past his head. One of his brothers fell, his armour riddled with holes. Just a few more metres. The Nails were burning, spitting rage and hate into his mind. They wanted blood. Khârn screamed in rage and defiance as he forced himself forward, ignoring the shots punching into his armour. None of them were serious. Hauling himself up to the top, he ran and leapt over the first line of men. Landing with his axe screaming, he hacked and chopped around him, bathing himself in the blood on the enemy. Nothing could stop them now. The line collapsed under his rage, men fleeing rather than face the roaring giant in their midst. More of his brothers joined the fray, laying into the mortals with bloodthirsty abandon. Along the wall, World Eaters poured into other breaches. It was no longer a battle, it was a massacre.

\--------------

Suzeb stared in disbelief at the report just handed to him. Setta had fallen, its defenders and citizens slaughtered. The reinforcements had tried to force their way in to delay the carnage, but had too fallen beneath the giants’ axes. Ankalia would be next. The sun was setting over the city. And in more than one sense, thought Suzeb. With Setta gone, Julara would fall.  
As if in reply to his thoughts, the city’s lights died in an instance, plunging it into semi darkness. It was a trap, Suzeb knew. His personal radio transmitter crackled into life, static crackling.

“Citizens of Ankalia. We have come for you.” A soft, sinister voice hissed. 

Despite himself, Suzeb felt his heartbeat quicken and a cold trickle of fear wrap itself round his spine. Racing out of his office, he tried someone to raise the alarm. Stumbling through the darkness, he tripped over something, hitting the floor hard. Turning to see what the obstacle was, he groped around until his hands fell upon something wet. Wet and warm. He knew what it was. But that didn’t stop his mind rebelling from it. They were already here. He clamped his bloody hand over his mouth to stifle a scream. A slow, heavy tread distracted him from his wildly beating heart.

“Well, well, well. Looks like you got my message mortal.”

It was the same voice from the radio. Suzeb turned and was met by a pair of glowing red lenses. A fist grabbed him by the throat and hoisted him up effortlessly. The intruder carried him outside onto a balcony. In the last light of the day, he saw his enemy. Clad in armour the colour of deep blue and bedecked in gruesome trophies, the giant wore a helmet fashioned into a skull. A pair of batwings sprouted from its sides. 

“Look upon your failure.”

The voice was mocking, taunting. He looked out over his city, the tortured screams carrying across on the wind. Silent tears trickled down his face. He had failed them. He barely had to time to breathe before the blade pierced his chest and opened him from sternum to pelvis. Choking on blood welling in his mouth, Governor-General Zur-sin Suzeb was dead before he was tossed from the balcony and hit the street below.

\--------------

The Night Lords' surprise assault cut the head of the Jularians' resistance. Paralysed by fear, Ankalia was unable to fight back. The city was butchered in a night, the rest of Curze's Legion descending on the population in an orgy of sadistic torture and savagery. Bodies decorated the streets and buildings, from the spires of the city's elite to the slums of the poor. None were spared. Some tried to flee, only to be herded to the skinning pits. Others were hunted through the darkness like sport for the murderous Astartes. When the sun rose the next day, the VIII Legion left the city a charnel house. 

The two Legions met on the outskirts of the now silent, empty city. The World Eaters, fresh from their bloody rampage through Setta, their armour plastered with gore and viscera. The Night Lords wore new skulls and bloody skins on their armour. The primarchs approached each other, the embodiment of the Legions they led. Angron's bronze gladiator armour was stained red, his twin axes Gorefather and Gorechild clogged with blood and flesh. The Butcher's Nails still ticked and buzzed in his skull, spending twitching spasms across his scarred face and along his arms. Even after the slaughter at Setta, they were not sated. The pain in his head pulled his lips into an ugly snarl, saliva hanging from iron replacement teeth. Whereas the Red Angel bled violence and rage, the Night Haunter was a gaunt, cadaverous murderer. His curtain of black hair blew in the breeze, his alabaster features and cold, black eyes burning. Darkness seemed to surround him, his midnight blue warplate streaked with lightning and grisly trophies of war. Governor-General Suzeb's flayed skull hung from his belt. His clawed gauntlets, each finger a vicious curved blade, were splattered with blood.

"It is done brother." Curze's voice was little more than a hissing whisper. "The rest of this world's population have agreed to accept the Imperium's rule. The fear of further punishment has cowed them into submission."

Angron grunted, snorting blood onto the ground. "Hnngh. I suppose congratulations are in order Curze. You and your Legion ended the war in a night."

Konrad smiled, baring his pointed teeth. It was a murderer's smile, devoid of warmth. "Is that a 'thank you' brother?"

"It was an acknowledgement," snarled Angron. "Your methods were effective."

"We are both necessary Angron. Necessary weapons to achieve our father's dream. Humanity, united united His banner. We are a means to that end. We do what our other brothers cannot. They see us as barbarians, savages and murderers. But through us, the fear of a violent, bloody death brings worlds and systems into the Imperium."

The XII primarch grunted in agreement. Pain throbbed behind his eyes, crashing against his brain. "Keep your philosophies of law and order to yourself Curze. I am a warrior. Warriors wage war. That's it."

The Lord of Night inclined his head. "I shall leave you to wage war then brother. My orders were specific for this Compliance only. I shall return to my own."

Angron nodded. "Until the next time Konrad."

_A warrior, bathed in blood and fire. Screaming as he transformed. A black blade. _The VIII primarch had seen all his brothers' futures. The next time they met, Angron would be more than he was now.__

"Until then Angron."


End file.
